


Lurking

by Demerite



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Ash Tyler Lurks, Cuddling, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/pseuds/Demerite
Summary: Ash Tyler definitely isn't lurking in the corridors. Except that he is.





	Lurking

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my continuing commitment to getting the 'Ash Tyler Lurks' tag recognised by AO3. And because let's face it, he does.

Ash up late again, wandering the ship. He's not _lurking._ Lurking implies some sort of intent. He's just...walking. Walking and watching, too full of pent-up energy, unsettled and volatile, to sleep. He spends a lot of his evening and nights pacing the corridors these days. The halls of this ship are filled with ghosts for him, but at least if he's up at moving, he's not sitting still and thinking. Thinking's worse. So he's not lurking. He's just keeping his own thoughts at bay. 

Ash turns left down a crossway, mentally tracking his position in relation to where he's already been. He's got another few hundred metres of corridor to cover before he'll be retracing his steps and he'll have to make the choice between returning to his quarters and trying to sleep, or taking a turbolift to another deco and starting the whole thing again. He's not lurking. He just doesn't want to sleep. 

No-one really looks at him as he passes. It's late, but a ship like this never really sleeps; there are always people of duty, going places, monitoring experiments, completing tasks. People pass him in the corridor and avoid eye-contact, but it's less marked than I used to be; the hateful comments have died off and barely anyone stares at him with suspicion or hostility when they think he isn't looking anymore. Prowling the corridors in the dead of night probably isn't helping his case though. He's not lurking. He's just testing how the rest of the crew are reacting to him tonight. 

Ash turns another corner, moves quietly down the empty corridor. _Command Quarters,_ his brain helpfully supplies, which he already knows. He's intimately familiar with this particular corridor, although he tells himself firmly that's _not_ why he turned this way even when his mind is in such disarray; he just needs to cover every corridor he can before he goes to another deck. He's not lurking. He just wants to make sure he remembers the layout of the ship properly. 

Despite his boots, his footfalls are quiet on the decking. He's long been able to move silently should he choose to. The corridor itself is quiet and deserted, and he moves along it, sinking into his thoughts a little more than he possibly should, the world fading out just a little as he walks. The sound of a door opening behind him makes him jump, and he starts to turn, but he doesn't manage it before a hand snags the back of his jacket collar and he's dragged through a doorway. 

Ash struggles wildly, pulls away, but as he turns to confront his assailant he realises _who_ has grabbed him and dragged him into his quarters, and he stops fighting at instantly. 

"Captain, you startled me." He says, and Chris smiles back at him.

"You were lurking again." He says, but there's no accusation in the tone. 

Ash is about to insist, a little petulantly, that that wasn't what he was doing, but then he gets the chance to properly _look_ at Chris, and he suddenly forgets what he was going to say. 

Chris is plainly just out of the shower; his hair and upper body is still damp, and he's got a towel wrapped around his waist, slung low on his hips. Ash watches a water droplet slide down the sculpted planes of his chest, across his flat stomach, and disappear into the fabric of the towel. He wants to trace that path with his tongue. 

When he looks back up, suddenly very aware of where his gaze has just been, Chris is smirking at him, eyebrows raised in silent challenge. There's only one way to respond to that. 

Ash steps into Chris' space, giving him enough time to back off if he wants to, and kisses him, all warm and forceful, one hand twisting in his hair to hold him still. Chris returns the kiss with equal fervour, catching at the front of Ash's jacket and tugging at the zipper, pushing at the fabric until Ash obliges and slides it off, leaving it to crumple to the floor in a tangle of dark fabric. The air in the room is cool against his arms, but Chris' hands, when they creep up the back of his undershirt, are warm, and his nails dig sharply into his shoulders. Ash knows there will be marks there, and he doesn't care. It's not as if anyone will see them. 

Ash pulls back from the kiss and yanks the undershirt off over his head with a forcefulness almost like he's angry with it, throwing it aside and not caring where it lands. Nothing audibly breaks, no he counts it as a win, and drags them back together, hands roaming over heated skin, exchanging hard, biting kisses. 

Ash tastes blood and when he pulls back, Chris' lip is bleeding, but he doesn't seem concerned by it, he just runs his tongue over the split, then dives back in to kiss Ash again, pressing him back against the wall by the door, sliding one bare thigh out from the confine of the towel and between Ash's legs, pressing up in _just_ the right way. 

Ash swears viciously - In Standard, thankfully, because most people find Klingon off-putting enough in regular conversation - and can't help but rut shamelessly against it, the friction is _so good_ but it's not enough. He wants more, _needs_ more, and Chris seems more than willing to offer it, dragging Ash away from the door and further into his quarters, towards the sleeping area with its double bed. 

They barely make it there before they're kissing again. Ash sprawls onto the mattress and Chris clambers up to straddle his lap. Somewhere during that process, the towel falls away, and his erection springs free, bouncing a little against his stomach. Ash wants to wrap his hand around it and see what kind of noises he can wring out of the other man, but Chris presses their bodies together and kisses him again, wet and open and filthy, hands seemingly everywhere at once. It's often like this when they fall together, hands and mouths everywhere and not a lot of words between them, uncomplicated and honest about what they're both looking for. 

When Chris gets Ash's uniform pants open, aligns their dicks and wraps a hand around them both, Ash forgets Standard entirely for a few moments, gasping out sharp, guttural words that roughly translate to _yes_ and _good_ and _more,_ hips jerking forward without his conscious input. Chris looks unfairly smug about this development; and Ash has enough brainpower left to want to do something, _anything_ , to wipe that look off his face, but before his mind is clear enough to think of anything other than chasing friction, Chris has pulled back from Ash, and his grip of their erections loosens, shifting instead to Ash's pants, tugging them down. Ash helpfully raises his hips to aid in their removal, and he's about to point out that he probably needs to take his boots of _first,_ when Chris stops, and looks up at him, eyes wide and dark with desire. 

Ash can't help the hot rush of lust that surges through him at the sight. He lets one hand rest in Chris' hair, still damp from the shower, gripping the strands but not pulling. Not _yet,_ anyway. Even so, Chris seems to relax a little, pressing up into the touch for a moment. They've done this a few times, and Ash knows what Chris is asking for. 

It hadn't been like this the first time Chris had suggested it; Ash's instinctive reaction had been to get out before he hurt Chris. He hadn't wanted Chris to be the vulnerable one. He hadn't wanted to hurt him, even accidentally. Sex and violence had been so intrinsically linked in his mind for so long that he'd been afraid of opening that door again, afraid of what might be on the other side. Chris hadn't pushed, but he's explained, quietly, that it wasn't about pain or hurt or anger, but about trust. 

"I trust you not to hurt me." He's said, simply, his gaze steady, and Ash hadn't known what to say to that, so instead he'd pulled Chris into a bruising kiss that had been returned with equal fervour, and when he'd had his breath back he found he was able to murmur 'yes' against Chris' lips. 

That night had ended with Chris on his knees in between Ash and a wall, and Ash wondering aloud why she hadn't tried something like that sooner. 

From there, a pattern which Ash _deeply_ appreciates has started. Chris, it turns out, never misses a chance to get his mouth on Ash's dick, and Ash never misses a chance to let him. 

Even so, Chris still gives him a questioning look, just for a moment. It's his version of asking if it's okay, and Ash nods, a little jerkily, mind gone half-hazy with anticipation, with _want_. He hasn't been allowed to just want things in so long. 

"Fuck." He hisses when Chris dips his head and guides Ash's dick into the wet heat of his mouth with one hand wrapped lightly around the base. Ash throws his head back against the pillow and has to mentally recite _several_ Very Important Starfleet Regulations just to keep from coming right then and there. When he opens his eyes again, sure that he's got his reactions under control, it's only to realise how wrong he is; Chris is looking up at him with that intense look in his eyes, lips stretched wide around Ash's dick, but when he sees Ash looking at him, he winks. 

That man is fucking unbelievable. 

Ash is drawing breath to tell him so, but Chris seems to realise this, and he _sucks,_ hollowing his checks and Ash's brain maybe shorts out at that. Somehow, he always forgets just how good it feels until he's back there, spread out on a mattress of leant against a surface or, on one memorable occasion, in the shower, with Chris doing those absolutely unholy things with his mouth. 

Chris' hands press down on Ash's hips, holding him in place, and Ash only has a second of panic flashing through his mind at the idea of being held down before Chris _swallows_ around his dick, pushes his face down further, and everything goes _tight_. 

Ash lets out a ragged, broken gasp, his back arching, only the grip Chris has on his hips keeping him in place, stopping him from forcing his dick further into that delicious tight heat. His next gasp comes out more like a sob, a desperate sound torn out of his before he can think to bite it back. 

"Please." He hadn't realised how close he is already, so on-edge and wound up that he's not above a little begging if that's what it's going to take. 

Instead, Chris pulls off his dick with a gasp, and Ash lets out a whimper he will later deny for the rest of his life. 

"Please?" Chris echoes, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"Do that again," Ash says instead, which wasn't exactly what he was planning on begging for, but it's close enough. He tugs, hard, with the fingers that are tangle in Chris' hair, and Chris licks his lips, already red and swollen, and ducks back down again. 

He takes Ash's dick faster this time, and Ash is pretty sure his vision if going kind of blurry at the edges from how _good_ it feels, all hot and wet and tight. He tries to fight the urge to thrust into Chris' throat, is grateful for the hands holding his hips in place now, and also somehow conscious that he's _really_ not going to last. His world has narrowed to the sensations from Chris' hands on his hips and his mouth on his dick, the slick slide and incredible tight pressure driving him closer to the edge. His breath is coming hard and fast, edges with small, desperate noises that he can't keep silenced no matter how he tries. He doesn't need to be quiet, but he's spent so long not giving anyone the satisfaction that -

"Fuck..." Ash cuts off his own thought, the pressure that has been building finally too much. His entire world goes white, and he's aware only of the blinding pleasure that pulses through him as he comes, harder than he can remember coming in a long time, until he's aware of nothing at all. 

He comes back to himself slowly, blinks open his eyes to see a worried-looking Chris peering down at him, concern written in the lines on his forehead. 

"You okay?" Chris asks, and Ash can only nod and reach up for him. 

Chris gets the idea easily enough, leans down to kiss him, slow and relaxed and gentle, and it's then that Ash realises that Chris is still hard, but has put his own desires aside to make sure Ash is alright first. 

Chris sits back then, and wraps a hand around his dick almost lazily, as if he isn't in a rush, even though Ash can see how red it is and knows that Chris must be absolutely _aching_. 

Ash looks up at him then and the sight makes him lose what little breath he'd managed to catch. He doesn't think he's ever seen anything as _hot_ as Chris Pike straddling his lap, one hand working his dick in quick, desperate strokes, nothing but precome to slick his way. Ash has already come tonight, is still riding that post-orgasm high, but the sight is enough for his dick to give an interested twitch against the curve of Chris' ass. Chris must feel it, because he turns his heated gaze on Ash,

"Already?" He teases, but its a ragged gasp of a word with how close he is. 

"Give me half an hour and I'll fuck you so hard you forget your own name." Ash promises in a low growl, the fingers of his right hand digging into the meat of Chris' thigh. 

Chris' reaction is...not what Ash expected. He's not sure _what_ he'd expected, he's not even sure where the words had come from, but he'd been thinking that Chris would laugh, or that he'd be met with a sarcastic remark. He's _not_ expecting Chris' whole body to go tense, or the strangled noise he makes, or for him to curl forward like he's been punched, and Ash is about to apologise for pushing it too far when he realises that Chris is _coming._ With a broken-sounding gasp, Chris spills over his hand and  Ash's stomach, streaks of come making it as far up as his chest. Ash can only watch in mute wonder. _He_ did this. _His_ words. 

Chris all but collapses forwards, on Ash, and Ash manages to catch him and rearrange them so that he's lying back against the pillows, and Chris is sprawled half next to him, and then over his chest, with as much skin-to-skin contact as they can manage without Ash being crushed. Chris doesn't respond to the movement as first expect to curl against Ash's side, but gradually as his breathing evens out he tucks himself tighter against Ash. 

"I'm sorry." Ash says softly, during his head to mumble the words against Chris' temple, "What that too much?" 

Chris twists, looks up at him with an expression that Ash is more used to seeing on the Bridge, that particular look of 'are you fucking kidding me, Tyler?' that is directly out of their work relationship. 

"What exactly about my reaction suggested it was too much?" Chris asks, and there's that snark again. 

Ash kisses him rather than start in on why he was worried, but kissing seems like a much better option. He tries to tangle his legs with Chris', and that's when he realises he's still wearing his pants, pushed halfway down his thighs, and his boots. Ash can't help it, he starts to laugh. 

Chris gives him a bemused look, but moves aside long enough for Ash to kick off his boots and pants, then he curls back around Ash's body, even though they're both uncomfortably sticky. Soon they'll get up and shower, and Ash is pretty sure Chris isn't going to let him forget the promise he made earlier, but for the moment Ash can just have this; warmth, and safety, and silent trust. 

It's enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell with me on [Tumblr](https://demerite.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
